God Between the Lines
Fr. Carl Chudy, SX
The reasons I became a Xaverian Missionary are not exactly the reasons I continue to be religious missionary in the church today. My life has evolved and changed over the many years and I have many unpredictable experiences that shape my understanding of faith and response to Christ. I like to think of my life at this point as, “God between the lines,” a way of saying it which is something I borrowed from a study of the Asian Study Centre with the same title in 2016.
The essays in this little volume were selected literature from four Asian countries scrutinizing the cultural pluralism through the literature of four Asian authors. It also speaks well of my own journey with the divine, transcendent Lord “between” faiths and cultures, across three continents, revealing the sacredness of all things.
In light of this, the words the Founder’ in the Testament Letter reverberate in the changes, crisis, and times where I had to learn to stretch the boundaries of my heart because life demanded it of me. He points to the serious and solemn commitment we undertake, as if that seriousness can only be understood across the years in a cumulation of experiences, giving our own modest contribution to the fulfillment of Christ’s wish: the formation of a single Christian family embracing all humanity. (1)
Drawn Closer to Christ in the Periphery of Faith
The depth of our devotion to Christ will always lead us to love our Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Sikh, Indigenous, nonreligious, agnostic, atheist, and other neighbors as ourselves. It is trans-institutional, working across institutions, both religious and non-religious, seeking the common good of those inside and outside the movement and the institutions it involves.
It continues to draw me, leaving behind that which is not needed, pledging my years to continue to follow Christ whose salvific power extends both within and beyond the institutional church and beyond religious/secular constructs. (1) “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came to be through him, and without him nothing came to be.” (John 1-3)
Obedience and Dialogue
After 13 years in the Philippines in 2006, Fr. Menegazzo asked me to return to the US Province. I thought about this for a short time and replied that I would be willing to return. Gigi was a little surprised that I decided this so quickly. My response to him was this: “I struggle sometimes with all of the vows except one: obedience. I have always felt that I can “bloom wherever I am planted” and that has made me very free. As I get old however, that has changed somewhat. I hear the words of the Founder again in my effort for an nimble religious life that can adapt to changing times and persons. We should be totally indifferent with regard to our mission or destination. The life, strength and prosperity of the Institute will ultimately depend on the spirit of obedience. (6)
In the Philippines, with little exposure to Islam, I found myself thrust in an experience that would start a thrust in my mission which affects me to this day. It was obedience to a moment and its need. I was substituting for Fr. Archie Casey who was on holiday at the time. We were assisting landless farmers who were trying to dialogue with the government about land titles promised them 20 years prior and never delivered. During this work, clandestine, para-military soldiers, probably from people in the government, began a systematic campaign to assassinate the leaders of these farmer’s grassroots organizations structured through various local organizations and funded by an NGO in Belgium.
In the early 2000’s, more than 200 were killed. One of the targets of this campaign was a village in an island in the south of the archipelago in Negros where a number of men were killed. Their wives and mothers responded by traveling to Metro-Manila in the north and holding a hunger strike in front of the Department of Agriculture, close to our center. Fifteen days into the hunger strike, weak and lying on cots under a blue plastic canopy alongside the highway, a local Muslim chaplain and I were called to join them to provide solace. We were asked to offer some spiritual consolation to this religiously mixed group of women who did not know what the future would hold.
Both he and I agreed that it would be simple. We would both read from our sacred texts, pray to God (Allah) for protection, and then visit each woman by their cots and have a quiet conversation with them. I began with a letter from St. Paul, he from the Qur’an. After our respective prayers, we spent the rest of the afternoon talking individually with each in quiet whispers, hunched over these frail, brave women who shaved their heads in protest. I realized in that interfaith worship, that our common prayer to God to bring justice to the poor and consolation to the grieved hit at the belief and passion of us all, Christian and Muslim.
Furthermore, it was a balm of healing we could only carry together to this fearless community. I knew from that time forward; my energies would be about gathering that same kind of collaborative spiritual healing and renewal in front of the great challenges and cancers that afflict our communities and world today. The world has grown sufficiently small, the problems that we share across the globe sufficiently large and common…. While plural in so many wonderful ways, morally the human family is one. Obedience is teaching me this.
Confessions of a Flawed Confrere
In the Testament Letter the Founder underlines the high regard we must work hard to develop with those we live in community. He says: “Everyone must suppress his own ego, criticism, contrariness, ostentation, and desire for the limelight, in order to find common ground of love and dedication with each other.” (10) In this spirit I make this confession for how surprisingly strong and divisive my “ego” can be, and how much it gets in the way of the what the Founder wishes for us. Here are my sins.
When I Dismissed Other People’s Problems
There have been times when someone brought a concern or problem to me and I essentially said,” Get over it.” I usually said it in a nice way. I sounded spiritual and caring while doing it. But it was the advice of someone who didn’t really care. I didn’t want to be that someone, but most of the time I was so consumed with the things I was dealing with in my own life that I had nothing else to give. So “Get over it” really meant, “I have no solution,” or, “I have no energy to walk this road with you.” From now on, I’m going to try my best just to listen, because even if I have no solutions, I have ears, a heart and hope.
When I Pretended to be Humble
Humility is easy to fake but doing so is actually very prideful. You share enough to appear humble, but not enough to actually be humbled. Our generation is enamored with the idea of vulnerability, but we’re not very good at it. It has become a marketing tool to appear approachable. We’ll share some, but not enough to let people really get close to us. We still want control. We’re still ashamed. So, we hide.
When I Thought Everything Depended On Me
I wanted to be in control, so I scheduled too many meetings. And the “meeting” became the main driver. I forgot to value the faces and began to focus on the agenda. I realized that I was communicating unspoken messages like,” I don’t trust you,” “I need to keep my eyes on you” “Unless I lead you in this project/strategy/situation you will fail.”
When I Started to Fall in Love With the Less Important
Focusing too much on some aspects of our culture made me fall out-of-love with Christ in some ways. I was trying to be a celebrity but not a servant. I wanted Twitter followers more than Christ-filled ones. I cared more about the light, the sounds and the program. I forgot the broken, the faithful and the privilege of sharing the good news.
When I Devalued Community
It’s easy to believe the lie that “mission is a lonely place or being in leadership is a lonely place.” It can be if you let it, but it doesn’t have to be. When I bought into that lie, I allowed myself to be a hermit, to play the victim card. But we were all created for community. This is not a cute congregational slogan, it’s a reality for survival. We need each other, and church leaders aren’t an exception to that rule.
When I Acted Spiritually Superior
There’s often a temptation to act like you’re a spiritual superstar, especially when you’re a leader. I’ve caught myself telling everyone how much I pray, or about the last time I fasted, or how good this morning’s time with the Lord was. But Jesus was all about keeping that stuff to yourself. Expose your weaknesses, let your strengths speak for themselves.
When I Expected Everyone to Put My Mission First
At times, I have treated confreres like they were all full-time provincial councilors, inwardly demanding stuff from them unfairly. I expected them to drop everything for the sake of my agenda, but the problem was, often it was for the sake of my kingdom, where I ruled as king and lord. Never forget, the whole point is to serve, not to be served.
When I Told Everyone “Community is Priority” but Lived Like the Ministry Was
I often find it easier to throw myself into the work of my office and the province than I do navigating the ins and outs of community living. Often being with others can be an excuse that I don’t want to be with confreres, at least at that moment.
About The Author
